


If It Seems to You Like It Seems to Me

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Culture, Drinking & Talking, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Taverns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: Plain and simple, Finn was his copilot. It didn’t sound like much, but before theFalcon, no, beforeFinn, Poe had always flown solo. And now here he was, all his chips on the sabacc table. The way he trusted Finn, he hadn’t ever known anything like that, didn’t even realize hecouldtrust someone like that.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	If It Seems to You Like It Seems to Me

**Author's Note:**

> when your best friend makes a joke abt finn and poe having the equivalent of a vegas wedding but you take it seriously and write a 4k+ fic abt it :/

Nestled up against the side of the soaring, wooden edifice was a stunted tavern made in the same way, so short and unimposing it was hard to tell there was even anything there until you were on it, catching a whiff of inside by the cyclic entry door or cast in the light of it. While its neighbor was the mother dog, bristling on sturdy haunches, the tavern was the lopsided runt, kicked to the end of the feed-line by its stronger siblings up and down the road. It was only by luck it had managed to retain its foothold on the last teat long enough to live.

It was one of the more well-established watering holes in the city, serving anyone that stumbled in as long as they had the credits to back it up and the tough enough skin to deal with the regulars lined down the bar on their long-reserved stools. Not for the faint of heart just as it wasn’t for the overly-sure. If you could take a joke so could they, but there was probably still a tooth or two between the floorboards to prove there wasn’t a being inside that took kindly to arrogant sightseers encroaching on their space and disobeying the way of things. Stay on their good sides, though, and you were in for a hell of a night that would be better in motion than the story ever could be.

One of the kids on the support team had been the one to pass word of it to Finn and Poe, his mother’s people relics of the area with an insider’s eye for these things. He wasn’t old enough to step foot—or tentacle, as it were—inside, but he _was_ equipped with information enough to get them curious.

An institution, he’d called it. The bartender was alleged to be the godmother of half the kids in town because their parents had met under her consideration. The building itself was rumored to have been an old Rebel spot back in the day, false panels in the walls to cover hidey-holes big enough for a body or two to cram in if it came down to that. And it was hard to even begin to cover any of the far-fetched names routinely thrown around as to who might be the mysterious bank-roller of the whole operation.

So once night fell on their last day planet-side, Finn and Poe set off in their best echo of plainclothes, shirts loose and breathable in a way that wasn’t conducive for battle but would be preferred once they were in the stifling air of all those bodies tucked together. Poe had left his jacket behind, but not his blaster. Tucked into a thigh holster so as not to be apparent, it a showing of respect as much as it was a warning. Finn had opted to roll his pale shirtsleeves to his elbows and fend off any questions as to the whereabouts of his—if any—weapon with a beguiling grin that made Poe’s teeth click when he snapped his mouth shut.

They matched their strides once they really hit the streets, almost elbow to elbow. The city didn't have sidewalks, the only thing keeping the streets from being a free-for-all the citizens own will, but they still stayed out of the general mash toward the center, electing instead to stay on the outskirts for better access to the road signs if anything, lack of personal space wasn't a matter. They’d become well acquainted with the sensation of standing side-by-side; sharing the _Falcon_ had forced their hand on proximity, but their own feelings had pushed them over the edge as far as intent was concerned. Most days, Poe knew he only had to look to his right to find Finn and tonight was no different.

Looking now, he caught Finn’s smile out of the corner of his eye, directed at a feathered street-performer curling durasteel-gray talons over a small, stringed instrument, making it dance with music so bright it seemed to throw a light on the nighttime shadows. Just off to the side of the performer was a young couple joined hand in hand, their feet barely hitting the ground as they spun joyously to the tune and the way it mixed with their laughter. 

Nonstop missions over the last few months had thrust them into a slew of new cultures and customs and Finn observed it all with the same look each time. To any other onlooker, Poe supposed Finn’s enjoyment would look appropriately passive, but he could see that spark just underneath the surface, wonder and craving. It made him want to take Finn by the hand now, find out just how well he could follow a tune. Knowing he could pull Finn in as close as he wanted these days was one of Poe’s more favored facts of life.

“Poe,” Finn said, his tone suggesting he’d been steadily calling on him for a while now. Poe raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement and he continued, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Poe immediately tsked. “Are we going the right way,” he repeated, pulling the directions out of his shirt pocket and smoothing them down with one hand against his chest. “I thought you had a little more faith in me than that, buddy.”

Finn shook his head, an amused laugh obvious in the turn of his lips. “Well, are we?”

Poe made a showing of looking over the hastily scribbled directions, tucking his mouth into a frown, eyes squinting. His eyebrows pulling together in consternation was real, though, having realized that maybe he should have examined it a little closer before they left because for all the digressions, it still put their quarry in the opposite direction.

“It’s all relative, isn’t it?” he asked, hastily shoving the paper back into his shirt without the easiness he’d so far treated it with. Wrinkles weren’t his worry, Finn getting his hands on them was. “About the journey not the destination?”

“No you don’t,” Finn proclaimed, swinging a swift arm around Poe’s shoulders and drawing him close while his other hand slipped around Poe’s front, heading for his pocket.

Trying to duck out of his grip, Poe cracked, “Hey, you don’t have to accost me in the street, all you’ve got to do is ask nicely,” which finally made Finn’s laugh break past his lips, but it didn’t dissuade him from his pursuit. They continued to fumble good-naturedly until Finn’s breath tickled the crook of Poe’s shoulder where his shirt had tugged to the side. In the end, it was a momentary enough distraction that Finn was able to snag the paper between his fingers and dance away before Poe could right himself.

All for show, but what a show it was, Poe groused, “You fight dirty,” and yanked his collar back into place, ignoring the flush crawling up his throat.

Finn simply shrugged and narrowed his eyes at the crinkled paper, thumbs on either side to hold it taught. “All right,” he proclaimed a second later, distractedly pointing out a narrow side street. “We should be able to take this road right here and end up on the back side of it.”

“Y’think?”

“Only one way to find out. Don’t you have any faith in _me_?” he joked, already toeing his way backward across the street. There weren’t any vehicles out here to worry about—the planet having long since fazed them out of everyday use—so he moved unimpeded, still careful not to knock shoulders with any of the others pedestrians. Poe couldn't help but watch him for a moment, how he moved with purpose and surety. There was something poetic to be said about the sight of Finn carving his own way through a current of bodies on a world he'd never been to before, but Poe wasn't the one to say it.

“More than’s advisable,” he murmured, taking off at a jog to catch up.

Finn’s sense of direction was impeccable, Poe had to give him that. Using his shortcut, they righted their course and came upon the tavern’s back alley. One light fixture in excruciating light hung over a stocky Bothan in belted robes, cigarra burning between thin, pale brown lips. She inclined her head, snout dipping to reveal a pinkish scar cutting through her tawny fur, and pointed them around the side without a word. There was an air of resignation to the gesture, like she’d already done it twenty times that night and would have to do it a hundred more.

Walking into the bar, Poe figured that was a good, if not conservative, estimate. There were bodies from wall to wall, talking and smoking and drinking in a way that was so routine it almost seemed canned. But when the droopy-eyed Mon Calamari bartender looked up from smacking a glass down in front of a Hapan in thick, tinted bifocals, a few other curious glances shot their way and dispelled the mystique as soon as eye-contact was established.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender called, spilling swirling green liquid into the Hapan’s glass who took the drink like medicine, plugging her nose to make it go down.

“Whatever’s good!” Poe shot back and that cajoled a smile to the bartender’s face, her steam-red features lighting up. Through a throaty laugh she asked a human man with a pyramid of glasses stacked proudly at his elbow, “You hear that, Val? The off-worlders want whatever’s good.”

Poe frowned down at his clothes, wondering what it was about them that screamed off-worlder so easily. He’d been to places like these a time or two in his life and usually he could get through the first round before declarations like that were made. Small town thing, he decided, everyone knows everyone.

“Ah, give ‘em the house special, Nomi,” the man practically sang, scraggly beard shuddering around his sun-blistered mouth. “Courtesy of me—I like the way that one thinks,” he added, pointing out Poe with a wagging finger and squinted eye. Just like that, they were one of the pack.

Poe felt a familiar hand on his shoulder as they cut through the crowd to get to the bar. It was hard to see anything below the bar-top for all the stools shoved up against it, barely any space between them, and somehow they were pushed onto two vacant seats, their sides lining up, ribs practically slotted together as they wobbled into place. Finn moved his hand to rest on Poe’s knee then to steady himself, making no obvious move to configure himself any other way once he was. He sure as hell wouldn’t find any protest from Poe on the matter.

“Heads up!” Nomi called, slinging their drinks down the bar with enough force it was a wonder there was a drop of alcohol left. Finn was clearly impressed, eyes markedly taking in how the wooden cups had slid perfectly into place as they took their drinks to hand. 

Meeting each other’s eyes over the frothy, night-blue liquid, they found not a lick of apprehension; in fact, it was challenge that sat there, edging onto their faces in mirrored grins. Poe ducked in, close enough to be heard over the jaw-rattling music like fists banging on a table full of silverware, and proclaimed, “Cheers!” Their cups knocked together and as the drinks first hit their tongues so began their night.

It was good—not quite sweet and not quite bitter with a definite earthy undertone. Come to think of it, that might have something to do with the cups they were served in. Geometric wood blocks whose corners had been sanded down and varnished until they were pleasantly slick. Bored in the middle were off-center circles that exposed the true woodgrain the more you drank—sappy purple knots appeared in the otherwise black wood as Poe took another pull. He would eventually glean it was made from some long-gone arboreal species native to the planet at one point or another in the last century, but for the moment it remained a mystery. Yet here he was, ready to get piss-drunk out of their remnants, cheers.

This was new territory for them both, the first night off they’d had that actually resulted in doing much more than scarfing down scalding-hot rations or crashing in staggered shifts. But here, Finn seemed to fall right into the way of things, drink cradled against his chest with careful hands, taking a mouthful every so often. He’d turned his back to the bar to look out over the crowd, eyes scanning the room more out of curiosity than wariness if Poe had to guess, and when it came to Finn he was pretty good at guessing. 

Despite the overwhelming noise and crush of beings, Poe felt himself start to relax now that he saw Finn was enjoying himself. His guard was still well up—probably couldn’t let it down if he tried—but the twist of muscles in his neck down into his shoulder blades started to come undone at the mere insinuation of this being their night.

It was rare he got that anymore, but notable to every occurrence was Finn’s presence. Poe didn’t need to be one with the Force to feel the truth north of Finn’s aura or the way it affected him. The last five months had been a twister—faces, places, bases as interchangeable as their similar syllables. And while Poe had learned to roll with the punches a long time ago, he never had been able to get used to loss. But Finn. Finn was an immutable fact, from presence to mind to touch. Not just a friend anymore like those days on the scorched tarmac, but something more. There had always been something there, neither of them could deny that, but in the face of the things looming on their horizon, it was hard to deny everything _else_. And on the _Falcon_ of all places, where they’d drifted into a synch even deeper than black squadron’s? Forget about it. It was just a matter of time after that.

Plain and simple, Finn was his copilot. It didn’t sound like much, but before the _Falcon_ , no, before _Finn_ , Poe had always flown solo. And now here he was, all his chips on the sabacc table. The way he trusted Finn, he hadn’t ever known anything like that, didn’t even realize he _could_ trust someone like that.

And the way he loved him? He loved him so much sometimes it felt like stars collapsing in his chest.

That wasn’t the drink talking, either, even if it was hitting him with a one-two punch as it snagged down his throat. No, loving Finn was a conclusion he’d been heading toward since the day they met, had been dead-set on since that first kiss. He’d caught fire the day he met Finn, but he hadn’t smelled the smoke until he realized Finn was burning, too.

Looking at him now, his profile lit by the orangey warm overhead lights, Poe wasn’t sure how he’d ever gotten on without it. Without Finn there at his side, blaster in hand and smarts nor wit far behind. Poe was problem-solver by trade, but Finn’s was pure necessitate intuition. It ran through him like veins and paired with Poe’s…it was easy for Poe to say he didn’t consider odds when they were together. They’d already beat them once on that Starkiller after luck or fate or pure damn coincidence had pushed them together and that was plenty; after that they figured they had to have at least at shot at anything and a shot was all they needed.

Hope was an attentive, stoking thing.

Finn’s eyes meandered back around to Poe’s and when they caught, he smiled, unabashed, and tipped his cup in the only greeting that could be heard at its intended volume. Poe, now sideways on his stool, tipped his back and swung his foot out to cuff Finn’s boot sole.

 _I love you_ , Poe thought, _I hope you can feel it; Force or no Force, I hope it’s as tangible to you as it is profound to me._

To say he didn’t know where things were going was an understatement and an old refrain. Tomorrow might be the day all hell broke loose, or the day they got the call from the General to pack it in and get back as fast as possible, or it could be the day the _Falcon’s_ borrowed time ran out. Hell, it might never come.

But just as sure as he knew there was no way of knowing what lay ahead of them, Poe knew that the first face he would wake up wanting to see was Finn’s. And even if tomorrow or the day after or the one after that wasn’t anything, if it was just as they had been, he would still want to pull Finn into an embrace before one of them staggered off to get some sleep; feel the warmth he radiated, the subtle thump of his heart in his chest, the graze of his fingers on the side of Poe’s face before he pulled him into a kiss. First face he wanted to see and the last person he wanted to touch at the end of the day, that was Finn.

He considered motioning to the door, a silent let’s get out of here—let’s go home, if they had a home to go to—but he stopped himself. It was enough to just be, to not have anything hanging over their heads for a couple hours.

As the night wore on they worked through the last of their drinks, almost ordered another until Finn leaned in and asked, _“Do your gums kind of burn?”_ his breath agitating the curls spooled at Poe’s ear. Dutifully, Poe ran his tongue against the backs of his teeth in inspection and nodded. It wasn’t overpowering yet, but there was a definite tingle that shouldn’t be there, like drinking crystal-cold water after chewing on mint leaves. They switched to beer after that, much to Nomi’s amusement.

“Thought you two would have had another round in you,” she joked, her raspy laugh drowning out the sound of the caps snapping off their beer bottles when she expertly brought them down on the edge of the bar in tandem.

“I’m already regretting that one tomorrow,” Finn told her before taking a cleansing swig off his beer, which earned another laugh. She turned away from them then, holding her hands up to call the attention from each occupied stool.

“Who had one round on the off-worlders?” she beckoned, leaving one webbed hand raised. A synchronized buzz shot up from the regulars—a few groans and a few cheers until four hands shot up in victory. Without a word to Finn or Poe or their incredulity, she took off down the bar, pouring a free round for each winner.

“You’re kidding me!” Finn laughed, leaned back against the bar to look down the string of faces. The man that had ordered the drinks for them, Val, was cackling, one hand slapping his knee and the other slipping the drink down his throat. He sputtered, laughter divulging into hacking until one of his neighbors reared back and landed a well-placed palm hard against his back to knock him back to sense. Motions of routine, but one that still brought enjoyment to all parties.

“You want to try another?” Nomi challenged Finn. Her wideset eyes tutted a few times in quick, successive innocence, electric green irises full of mirth when he ducked his head in response. “I didn’t think so!”

“Oh, real smooth,” Poe teased before the neck of his beer bottle, glancing in practiced nonchalance at the small swarm of beings heading for the door before drawing his eyes back to Finn.

Fast as a flashbang, Finn hooked his foot around the bottom rung of Poe’s stool and wrenched it forward, nearly sending him tumbling back onto his ass. He stumbled over his mouthful of beer, coughing into his fist when it rolled down through his chest in a hard ball.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Finn offered jovially. Smugly, one might say, and Poe wasn't afraid to be that one if only for the fact that he was there to witness it. There was something about seeing Finn find new sides of himself, to be playful and not flinch under conjured repercussion, to be smug and to look at Poe with honest love and novas in his eyes. He was close enough Poe could smell the sanisteam still on his skin, but before that thought came to fruition Finn's attention snapped away. 

“What is it?” Poe asked, afforded the lowness of his voice by how close they still were. A familiar spike rushed through his chest, burrowing under his collarbones as Finn's lips sank into a curious frown.

“They’re all leaving.”

Curious, Poe craned to look over his shoulder. Bottlenecked at the door was every being he’d seen headed that way and more, nearly clambering overtop one another in their struggle to be the first out. Languages by the dozen rose above the regular din of the tavern, most of which Poe didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to be fluent to understand the intention.

He swung back around, now turning his eyes over Finn’s shoulder to look for some kind of lingering trouble. A fight or law enforcement, he guessed, but on first- and second-look business was moving as usual. A few patrons were watching the crush with shaking heads or knowing looks, but other than that nothing seemed to be reason enough for the stampede.

“It’s a full moon,” Nomi said as if that was explanation enough, two stools down with a towel slung over her shoulder and bulbous eyes trained on them. When she saw that she’d unwittingly caught their attention she sighed and puttered down to meet them, resting her elbows on the bar.

“A full moon?” Finn repeated, mirroring her stance. Curiosity openly washed his face and Poe couldn’t help but wonder, too, not familiar with whatever that indicated, so he braced an elbow on the bar’s edge. “What’s the significance?”

“Tourists!” Nomi exclaimed, more delighted than Poe had ever heard the term. “Do you happen to know what planet you’re on?”

“Not really,” Finn said, charm and honesty guaranteeing no one would fault him for his lack of knowledge.

She waved away his confession off as if to say _doesn’t matter_. “Here a full moon only occurs once every ten cycles. It has always been a time of great honor and celebration with an array of festivities. Those,” she explained, inclining her head to the door where only a few now remained, “Are the ones who still believe that a marriage officiated under the moon will be prosperous and long. It’s a practice the younger generations have brought back, the spontaneity and revelry of it are especially appealing—traditionally, the couple celebrates for a time before the ceremony takes place, and then go dancing once it concludes.”

“They’re going to get married right _now?_ ”

“Nothing is prearranged, but officiants will be on every street corner until sunrise. There’s always a surge when the moon’s at its highest and the night’s still young.” She cocked her head to the side and added, “I don’t know how much truth there is in it, but it’s a nice thought, don’t you think?”

She was called off before they could ask anything else, leaving them instead to ponder the information over the end of their beers. Finn kept his eyes dutifully trained forward, sometimes dipping to the mouth of his drink, but never any further. Poe committed to swirling his bottle between each sip, glancing at Finn out of the corner of his eye every now and then. After finishing his bottle he turned to ask Finn if he was ready to go, but found him already looking at him, thoughtfulness in the set of his jaw.

"You want to get out of here?" Poe asked, but it was just a formality. 

Their tab had been settled, but they fled the bar like they hadn’t paid a credit, Poe’s hand a steady weight on the small of Finn’s back until they broke into the night. Breathing hard, Poe sought out the full, hazy-orange moon like a light tower signalling him home. There it gleamed overhead, rosy-cheeked and perfectly in sight. He might have stood there looking at it all his life if he didn’t have other pressing plans for it.

“Finn,” he said, eyes flicking over to find his face skyward, too. Just like in the bar, he was lit up, but now he looked something serene and Poe thought, _if I could keep you looking like that for the rest of your life it’d be good use of mine._

“Yeah?”

“Marry me.”

When Finn didn’t immediately respond, Poe figured he was doing better than most. It was crazy, he knew that. They hadn’t been together but something like five months and that was in the middle of a war they seemed to be at the center of. Every day they were running from certain death, hadn’t ever known a time together when they weren’t, and again it was _crazy_ , but Poe didn’t think he’d ever meant something more in his life.

There were a hundred ways to say it—he could hear Threepio at the back of his mind supplying something corrective like _two-hundred and thirty-seven thousand combinations, actually, sir_ —and all he had to do was let his tongue come undone. This wasn’t the drink talking, and even if it was, it wasn’t anything he wouldn’t say stone-cold sober. But now didn't feel like the time for some grand speech, that was too disingenuous, he just needed to make it real, to make it sound like it did in his head where it wasn't some drunken mistake because a bartender had put them on the scent of it, but instead the only thing that had ever felt more right than being in an X-Wing.

He settled on clarifying repetition. “I wanna marry you,” said softly. Maybe he just wanted to say it again. Then, “Like I’ve never wanted to do anything else in my life.”

Finn faced him, his mouth a traitorous thing to his silence. He was giving Poe that blinding grin, the one that made him feel like he’d just spooned sand down his throat. That was the grin before they enacted a barvy, no-way-in-hell-would-that-work plan; that was the grin before he got pulled into a fierce hug; that was the grin before he got reeled in by his jacket and had the best damn kiss of his life.

“You’re serious?” he asked, but just as soon as he said it he must’ve found something in Poe’s face that rang true because he told him then, sweetly as ever, “You’re crazy, Poe Dameron.”

If Poe had to guess, he’d say Finn didn’t think he was that crazy at all. But he could feel the question lingering through his body like aftershocks, his heart hammering in his chest and his fingers curling up into his palms in anticipation. It was like being in a nosedive, right before he yanked the controls and leveled out; his stomach in his throat and his voice way over his head. 

“Wha’d’you say? You and me, under a full moon on a street corner in Wa’qia?”

When they won this war, Poe thought that story would play second-fiddle to this night right here. When he was the battle-worn elder who all the fresh-faced kids gathered around to listen to his recollections like gospel, he’d tell them all about the final battle all right, regale them about his friends the heroes, and then he’d save the best for last. Say _we were engaged for about five minutes_ , say _but I just knew_ , say _and I still love him, best damn man I've ever known_. Oh sure, it was all the things he used to pull a face at when his father would say them, but he got it now.

Finn reached for him then, palm fitting to the side of his neck, thumb rubbing along the line of his jaw just like it had a hundred times before. "I don't know how good of a dancer I am," he joked, but before Poe could interject he added, "But I want to find out. With you."

"Yeah?"

"No one else I want to figure it out with. Plus, I've seen you dance."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I like my chances."

And Poe thought, _yeah, I like mine, too._

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @foxmulldr !!


End file.
